


Summer Nights

by lamstrash



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Greaser AU, Misgendering, Multi, Non-Binary Peggy, The Schuyler Sisters as a gang, The revolutionary Crew as a gang, Trans Burr, Trans Eliza, non-binary Lafayette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5874487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamstrash/pseuds/lamstrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton just wants a fresh start at the new American private school he worked so hard to get in to. That was his first mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tell Me More

**Author's Note:**

> the greaser au inspired by Lin's new twitter pics

Alexander wasn't sure how he expected his first day at a new school to go, but he certainly wasn't expecting the pencil pressed to his throat when he asked a tall girl in a leather jacket outside the principal's office if she was "Erin Burr." Apparently those are fighting words, because the next thing he knows, he's being pushed into a set of lockers with a newly sharpened pencil ready to take out his jugular. All the other students in the crowded hallway create a bubble of free space in order to avoid them, and the teachers on watch look the other way.  
  
"I don't know," the girl says, crowding him further, "who's asking?"  
  
"Umm," Alexander gulped, feeling the lead of the pencil brush against his Adam's apple, "I'm Alex, uh, Alexander Hamilton. I was told that you could get me to my first class?" The statement comes out more like a question, but Alexander is sure that anything more firm-sounding with land him with a more... physical reprimand.  
  
The girl leans down to look him in the eye, and Alexander attempts to make himself seem smaller and less threatening. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, though, because she draws back and sticks the pencil behind her ear. "It's just Burr," she says before turning on her heel and going down the hall. Alexander doesn't know what else to do, so he follows her.  
  
"What's your first class?" the girl asks briskly, breaking the awkward silence between them.  
  
Alexander fumbles to get the paper with his class schedule out of his pocket, and realizes, belatedly, that his hands are shaking. "Umm, it says Homeroom: classroom S12."  
  
Burr sighs in exasperation, and Alexander thinks that he hears her mumble, "Of course," under her breath. However, Alexander is too afraid to ask what she meant, and silence descends on them until they reach the classroom marked on Alexander's schedule.  
  
"If you need anything else from me, feel free to take a hike," Burr says.  
  
"Umm, thank you for showing me to class," Alexander says belatedly, but Burr is already disappearing behind a corner.  
  
With a shrug, he peeks into the classroom and narrowly avoids getting hit in the face with a paper ball. The room is chaos, students chasing each other across the room, pelting each other with crumpled up notebook paper, and sitting on top of old science lab desks. There is no teacher in sight, and Alexander doubts there will be for at least another ten minutes when the bell is supposed to ring. Instead, he resigns himself to sneaking in the room by the wall where no one can see him and perching himself on an empty stool near a girl in a hot pink jacket. She’s popping the gum in her mouth very loudly, but she seems a lot tamer than anyone else in the room. Besides, this is one of the last seats available in the room.

Apparently, it’s the wrong seat because the girl turns to him with such a look of outrage, as if he had insulted her mother when he hasn’t even set his stuff down, that Alexander considers moving, anyway. “Don’t bother,” she says, popping her gum with particular viciousness. “You won’t fare any better anywhere else.”

He doesn’t know what to say to this, so he doesn’t, choosing instead to bury himself in his backpack as if he is searching for something. The area around the girl is calm, untouched, but Alexander, himself, feels as if he is in the eye of a hurricane, waiting for the inevitable to happen and the second half of the storm to hit. He doesn’t know why he fought so hard to get into any school in America that would accept him. He can’t remember why he worked so hard for that free ride scholarship when everyone here seemed to be so dead set on hating him and _oh god_ its just like being back in St. Croix with all those kids ignoring his existence when they weren’t actively making his life a living hell—

“Hello.” 

The voice breaks him out of his rapidly deteriorating thoughts and back into the anarchic classroom. There are two new girls sitting on the other side of the table and wearing matching pink jackets akin to that of the girl beside him. The one directly in front of him has a scarf tied daintily around her neck and has stuck out a perfectly manicured hand towards him.

“Hi,” Alexander says, cringing as his voice cracks on such a simple word. He takes her hand and tries not to be so aware of how dirty his must look.

“I’m Elizabeth Schuyler,” the girl says with a bright smile, “but most people call me Eliza.” Her grip on his hand gets just a tad bit firmer, more threatening. “ _Don’t_ call me Betsey.” She turns to the girl sitting next to Alexander and says, “Angelica, have you even introduced yourself yet?”

The girl rolls her eyes, and her lips turn up at the corner in a halfhearted snarl. “Angelica Schuyler,” she says briskly.  
  
"And I'm Peggy Schuyler," the last girl cuts in, as if she’s afraid that she will be forgotten. She leans in close to Alexander from across the table, brushing her long hair out of her face sultrily, and whispers, "or Maria, if you're willing to pay."  
  
"Down, girl," Angelica says before Alexander has a chance to turn her down, "this one looks a little too green for any time with the Reynolds."  
  
"Haven't you ever heard of practice makes perfect," Peggy teases, but she dutifully backs down.  
  
Alexander wants to ask how Angelica would know how green he was, seeing as she hadn’t even given him the time of day before the other two had shown up, but he decides, wisely, to keep those words to himself. “I’m Alexander Hamilton,” he says, instead.

Eliza squeals in excitement. “From the Caribbean, right? Your accent is so cute.”

Alexander hates himself all the more when his blush betrays him. In an attempt to change the subject, he asks, "And are you all...?"  
  
"Schuylers?" Eliza finishes. "Yes."  
  
"But no relation," all three say, in sync.

He could’ve guessed it, but he also didn’t want to assume. Stranger relations had been revealed in St. Croix’s small population so often that no one would bat an eye at a dark-skinned Black girl, a mixed girl, and an Asian being blood-related.

  
"It was just a happy coincidence," Angelica continues, suddenly chatty, "and now everyone's clamoring to be a Schuyler Sister, or an honorary Schuyler Brother if they can't get in with the Revolutionary Set." She pops her gum and sizes him up. "I don't think you're too cut out for either."  
  
The Reynolds, the Schuyler Sisters, the Revolutionary Set? Terms are just being slung around that Alexander can attribute no meaning to, and he feels his outsider status acutely showing.  
  
As much as Alexander hates appearing like he doesn't know something, he's getting nowhere waiting for this group to explain anything to him. So he asks, "Who's the Revolutionary Set,'" and hopes that no one laughs at him.  
  
Peggy and Eliza look at each other and then at Angelica who is picking dirt out of her nails with a folded piece of paper. "Lucky for you," she says, holding her hand to the light for inspection, "I’m feeling nice today. Tell the new kid about how things work around here."  
  
That's the only invitation they need, because both turn to him eagerly and Eliza begins, "The Revolutionary Set are only the _coolest_ cats around. They run the gang at our school, keeps them White boys next door on their toes."  
  
"They only accept the toughest boys," Peggy says. "And anyone who messes with them, otherwise, are quick to learn their place. All the girls are always falling over themselves to even get them to look at them, but the boys typically keep to themselves. You'll know them by the leather jackets they wear around."  
  
Alexander thinks of the girl in the leather jacket that saw him to class earlier. "Are any girls in the, uh, gang?"  
  
"You mean Burr?" Eliza asks. Alexander nods.  
  
"Word of advice," Angelica says, now having moved on to fluffing her hair in a handheld mirror, "don't call Burr a girl. The last kid who did ended up with some broken bones."  
  
There feels like there's more to that conversation than Angelica is letting on, but Alexander just files that piece of information away for later. Peggy and Eliza wait to see if Angelica will say more, and when she doesn't, they turn back to him.  
  
"So," Peggy says, "that's the Revolutionary Set, and they're for the boys."  
  
"The Schuyler Sisters, on the other hand..."  
  
"Are the girls' gang?" Alexander finished, tentatively.  
  
They grin at him, and Alexander flushes under the silent praise. "Yes," Peggy responds. "That's us!"  
  
"You know us by the pink jackets,” Eliza states, gesturing to hers. “We take in the girls who aren't afraid to break their nails in a fight."  
  
"Or even the prettiest ones who think they're pageant material."  
  
"Rich girls who are too bored with the fancy lives their parents set aside for them and are looking for a bit of fun."  
  
"Which is why we have the Reynolds faction," Peggy explains. "Angelica put me in charge of it because she's too busy trying to be a sugar baby"—"Watch it," Angelica warns, but Peggy continues as if she heard nothing—"to want to keep it up. We lend out _special_ services to some of the boys in the area if they got the money, hence the alias. Man, the other girls _hate_ us."  
  
"But we usually don't sell our services to virgins," Angelica says, and she looks directly at him when she says it.  
  
And because Alexander knows a challenge when he sees one and would be damned before he took an insult lying down, the brain-to-mouth filter he usually prides himself in promptly shorts, and he responds with, "Good thing I'm not a virgin, then."  
  
He could not have possibly said a worse thing, he realizes, because suddenly, all three girls have zeroed in on him with a shark-like intensity. Angelica has even stopped popping her gum for a moment, chewing in contemplative silence.

“So,” Eliza questions, “who is it?”

And there’s the downside of opening his big mouth. “No one you know,” Alexander says quickly, leaning back as they lean forward.

Peggy grabs his arm before he can get too far. “Nope,” she grins, “you gotta tell us now. Was it over the summer? Was she cute? Is she back in the Caribbean _waiting for you_?”

“How romantic,” Angelica sighs, sarcastic and dramatic. “It won’t be nearly as fun to corrupt you, now.”

Alexander figures he’s already shot himself in the foot enough times, might as well aim little higher. “Actually, _he_ isn’t waiting for me because he went back to South Carolina and I’m here.” He tries to shoot for nonchalant; he doesn’t think he reaches it if the stares are any indication.

Thank god when the bell rings and a teacher suddenly materializes to bring the class into order. But Angelica takes the time to whisper, "Pretty brave of you, there, telling us total strangers," with a new look of respect in her eyes. The others, too, seem to be sizing him up in a different light, and he thinks that maybe he can get through this.

“Alright class,” the teacher shouts, “settle down. I’m about to take roll.”

Students scramble for seats, and just as the teacher is about to close the door, three boys in leather jackets rush in. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we boys?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“ _Je m’excuse, Madam,”_ one of them says with a heavy French accent, but Alexander finds his eyes drawn to the boy combing his hair back beside him who couldn’t _possibly_ be who Alexander thought he was. 

Except the teacher says, “John Laurens?” in an expectant voice, and that’s the name of his summer fling but, to be fair, ‘John’ is an extremely common name. And freckles aren’t that uncommon on brown skin, even if Alexander is certain that he has traced that particular set at least twice on the nights that he was able to sneak away from the foster home and _his_ John could get away from his family.

And maybe he could have found more excuses as to why this John couldn’t possibly be _his_ John except that this John has the last name _Laurens_ and when he opens his mouth to say, “Won’t happen again,” to the teacher, there is no more doubt because yep, Alexander could live a thousand different lives and never forget that voice.

“Mulligan, I expect you to do better in keeping your friends in line,” Alexander hears the teacher say somewhat distantly, but he is too busy freaking out about the fact that John Laurens, _summer fling_ John Laurens, I’m-going-back-to-South-Carolina-forever John Laurens is here in New York, _at his new school_ , and could his life be any worse?

The boys find their seats towards the back of the class, behind Alexander and the Schuylers, and he wishes that he had let his hair down today instead of sweeping it back into a ponytail to appear more ‘professional.’ What would a bunch of high schoolers care, anyway, if he looked like he actually deserved his scholarship or not? Besides, all it does, now, is make him feel like an imaginary guillotine draws closer to his neck the closer the teacher gets to his name. He thinks that he might as well rip the metaphorical bandaid off quickly and mumbles a quick, “Here,” when the teacher finally gets to him. It takes roughly five seconds after Alexander feels Laurens’ gaze zero in on him for him to see Angelica connect the dots, having been looking back and forth between the group and Alexander, and yes, his life could get so much worse.

Roll finishes up much too quickly after that, and Alexander feels particularly betrayed when the teacher says, “You’re free for the rest of the period. Don’t bother me,” sits down at her desk, and pulls a book out. The class becomes a playground once more.

“Alexander Hamilton,” Angelica starts, an unholy light gleaming in her eyes, “do _not_ tell me that you spent the summer with—”

A shadow overtakes them, and there is a brush of heat along Alexander’s back before he feels the hand descend on his shoulder. “Ladies,” Laurens interrupts pleasantly, “I’m afraid that I need to borrow _Alexander_ for the rest of homeroom.”

Peggy and Eliza glance at each other in confusion, but Angelica still looks at him like the cat that ate the canary. “Don’t you ‘ _ladies_ ’ us, Laurens!” she says with a grin. “You can’t just charm away our new friend and expect us to be satisfied.”

“The mademoiselle makes friends?” Lauren’s friend says, placing a hand over his heart in mock puzzlement. “The world must be coming to an end.”

“Don’t patronize me, _Gilbert_ ,” she responds, and the look of teasing is replaced with a quick anger. He seems about to say something back when Laurens cuts him off with a quick flick of his hand. 

The hand on Alexander’s shoulder tightens. “Schuylers,” Laurens says through gritted teeth, “I would love to stay here and insult each other like we normally do, but I really do need to take your new friend and show him the ropes.”

Eliza seems ready to protest, but with a shake of Angelica’s head, she settles back down with a frown. A sting of betrayal settles on Alexander, but he tampers it down by clenching his fingers on the edge of the table.

“Can’t this wait until after class?” he asks, desperately, trying to ignore the way he can feel every one of Lauren’s fingers through his thing shirt.

“No,” he says, “it really can’t.”

He tries again, one more time. “But the teacher—”

“Won’t bother us,” Laurens says, firmly, patience lost. He drags Alexander out of his seat and manhandles him to the front of the class. And sure enough, when the boys walk past the teacher and out the door, she doesn’t even bat an eye, even when Angelica shouts, “Have fun!” after them. Alexander isn’t certain what his life has come to, but he can honestly say that this is the worst day of his life.


	2. Happened So Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander is either going to really love or really hate his life after this.

_All the gods in the heavens must have forsaken me_ , Alexander thinks while he’s dragged through the halls by a boy, who Alexander is almost positive is actually from France, and one John Laurens. How else could it be that Alexander is able to get accepted into this specific boarding school for wealthy and privileged children of America’s elite people of color, only to run into _John fucking Laurens,_ the man he spent the summer, unironically, fucking. And to make matters worse, he couldn’t have run into him during any other time, not during move-in when all the students returned from their breaks, or during orientation when new students were shown around the campus, or even during all the outings that his roommate, Charles Lee, forced him into attending. No, he has to see him during class, his _first_ day of classes, and now, he’s not too certain whether he should be wary of death or pray for it. Anything to get him out of whatever situation he has unwittingly found himself in. There are definitely no gods looking out for Alexander today, but he still sends up a brief prayer for mercy.

It isn’t long before Alexander finds himself being shoved into a bathroom as Laurens slams the door open, disrupting a cloud of smoke and startling some smokers. One guy drops his cigarette, but appears too afraid to pick it up.  
  
"If you know what is good for you," Laurens' friend says, a manic look in his eyes, "you will leave this room immediately."  
  
No one questions them, filing out the room quickly, and not for the first time Alexander is left to wonder what kind of reputation these boys have at this school. He's not entirely sure he wants to find out.  
  
After the other students have gone, Laurens takes special care to kick down every bathroom stall to ensure that no one is hiding away. Alexander is dragged along reluctantly, mostly because Laurens refuses to relinquish his iron grip on his arm. His friend wonders over to rub the smoking cigarette into the ground and comb back his hair in the mirror, but stays relatively far from them. When Laurens is satisfied that the room is sufficiently empty, he turns to face his friend. "Lafayette?"  
  
The boy waves his hand, stalking back towards the door. "Oui, oui, guard the halls, make sure no one so much as looks this way. I have done this all before, my friend."  
  
Alexander almost wants to ask him not to go, to stay and postpone whatever Laurens is about to unleash on him because whatever sort of darkness is lurking in his eyes does not seem like the fun kind that Alexander wants to discover. Before he knows it, he finds himself being backed up into a wall, Laurens pressing ever closer because he has yet to release Alexander's arm from his grip. In the end, they are a hair's span from touching each other, so close that Alexander can count Laurens’ freckles, and it feels as if the room is suddenly hotter. It doesn't help matters when Laurens does release him in favor of trailing his hands up to release Alexander's hair from its ponytail and then pressing his palms on either side of Alexander's head. And when Laurens inhales, it feels as if he is siphoning air directly from Alexander's lungs. So really, when he asks, "Can I kiss you?" Alexander is more than happy to blame his nod on his sudden lightheadedness.  
  
There's so much heat between them that Alexander feels like there is a live wire beneath his skin, half expects to combust as Laurens leans in. He closes his eyes in preparation, bracing himself for the onslaught, and is surprised when the first touch of their lips is gentle, almost nonexistent. Alexander thinks that maybe that first one was an accident when Laurens pulls away, a tease, but the second kiss is even softer, if possible. Laurens continues in this vein, a light pressure between them even when Alexander arches up in frustration and ends up grazing Laurens' growing erection.  
  
"Stay still," Laurens orders when Alexander makes to arch against him again, and he freezes, fingers clenched painfully tight around the leather of Laurens' jacket—when they got there, who knows? Laurens rewards him by pressing a leg between his thighs and pressing upwards until it brushes against Alexander's own burgeoning erection. Alexander groans, knocking his head back against the wall, and Laurens chases his lips for a moment before breaking away to suckle the skin of his neck.  
  
Is this punishment, Alexander thinks to himself. Is he being punished for daring to be someone he wasn't, for believing he could escape his own bastard heritage and be somebody in a new land? Because, by God, the way Laurens holds his body against him but offers only a mildly substantial friction is a certain kind of hell that Alexander would gladly burn in had Laurens not forbidden him from _moving_. His teeth puncture through the live wire underneath Alexander's skin, leaving trails of fire along Alexander's neck to be soothed by his tongue. Alexander thinks he hears Laurens mumbling, or maybe he is just mouthing against Alexander's skin, but then he moves further upwards, just shy of Alexander's ear, and wow, he did not think that Laurens would remember that particular sweet spot.  
  
A high keen builds in his throat, but before it can properly leave his mouth, Laurens finally, _finally_ gives him what he wants by placing his hands on Alexander's shoulders and covering his lips in a bruising kiss. Alexander strains against his grip for a moment, testing how strongly Laurens holds him down, but when Laurens makes to pull away, Alexander recalls the command and goes still. Laurens hums in approval and shifts his hands onto Alexander's neck, tilting Alexander's head to the side to better suit his needs, and Alexander yields him control without a second thought. Fingers gently stroking at his chin encourage his mouth open, and Laurens' tongue pushes its way into his mouth, tangling with his in warm familiarity. This is the contact that Alexander has missed from the summer, may have missed it more than his actual homeland, and he is temporarily overwhelmed by the absurdity of making out with a boy he thought he'd never see again in a place he never thought he'd make it into.  
  
Alexander pulls away first, this time with a laugh, and it is Laurens who follows with his teeth softly biting down on his bottom lip before parting. His hands are brands on Alexander's neck.  
  
"I thought you lived in South Carolina," Alexander forces out through his somewhat hysterical giggles, eyes opened just a sliver to watch him.  
  
Laurens grins when he whispers, "I thought you lived in the Caribbean." His hands move back to Alexander's hair as if on a circuit—from hair to neck and back—and begin to comb through the loosened strands.  
  
"I do," Alexander replies, breathlessly, then blushes at the neediness he hears in his own voice. "I mean, I did."

"And you moved? Here of all places?" Laurens' voice is steady, almost unaffected, and Alexander feels a stirring of envy even as arousal curls low in his stomach.  
  
"Yeah," Alexander sighs, closing his eyes. There is too much space between them and not enough movement, so Alexander finds himself rocking minutely into the leg that Laurens has wedged between his thighs. Laurens doesn’t discourage the movement, but Alexander doesn’t want to push his luck too much at the moment. He is momentarily distracted by Laurens untangling one of his hands from his hair, causing a whine to escape his lips which Laurens promptly shushes, all the while letting his fingers slide along Alexander's left side. And just as Alexander begins to sink into the comforting feeling of John stroking him, even over his clothes, Laurens pulls away.  
  
"Where are you going?" Alexander means to ask, except he doesn't get the chance because Laurens grasps his leg, pitches it over his hip, and arranges them just so that their cocks are aligned. A surprised cry escaped Alexander's lips before he can clamp down on it.  
  
The smirk that makes its way onto Laurens' lips is positively sinful. "You like that, baby girl?" he asks, punctuating the question with a roll of his hips.  
  
At the feel of Laurens' cock against his, at the usage of that nickname, Alexander swears he bursts into flames. Spots of lights flash beneath his eyelids at the wonderful grind that John has going with his hips, lights not unlike the pattern of freckles trailing down Laurens' throat, and Alexander's moans take on a more desperate quality. He hears Laurens' laugh, still too unruffled for Alexander's liking, so against his own need to obey, he forces himself forward to bite down on the sensitive juncture between Laurens' neck and shoulder.  
  
Laurens makes a sound like the air has been punched out of him, and the hand still remaining in Alexander's hair tightens to the point of near pain, making him grunt as pleasure crawls down his spine. Alexander isn't sure if Laurens meant that as a deterrent—he _was_ ordered to be still—but if Laurens hasn't learned how much he gets off on pain by now, then it's a lost cause. He's climbing higher, so much higher at such an embarrassing speed and he does not want to fall over that precipice alone. Carefully, he runs his tongue over the spot, lavishing it with attention before biting down again, much harder.  
  
Laurens tenses and stills, leaving Alexander's cock without any friction against his cock. He tries desperately to grind against him, but Laurens moves his hand from Alexander's leg to his hip, pressing him back against the wall. Alexander opens his mouth—to what, threaten? Beg? God, he is _so close_ —when he hears Laurens say, "I thought I said not to interrupt me."  
  
Alexander feels as if he's been doused with a bucket of ice. His eyes fly open and he tries to squirm out of Laurens' grip, out of this compromising position that could land them in detention or worse, expelled, because, despite being caught, Alexander is still painfully hard, and did the bell already ring? Oh god, he was late to class on his first day of school and what was he going to do—?  
  
"Monsieur, if you were any louder, they'd hear you all the way at King's College."  
  
That voice, that's Laurens' French friend, Lafayette. He doesn't sound shocked at all to see his close friend in such a situation, and when Alexander catches a peek of his face around Laurens' hair, Lafayette's is a careful mask of boredom.  
  
Laurens sighs, and Alexander focuses in on him. "Is that all you came to say?" Laurens asks, but his eyes are on Alexander's and Alexander feels pinned as surely as Laurens' hands have him. Far from unaffected, Alexander can see now that Laurens' chest is rising and falling a little faster than normal, his lips swollen and parted, his eyes glazed over, and a beautiful flush on his cheeks that make his freckles stand out in particular. Alexander is taken swiftly by the urge to lick the tiny dots sprinkled on his jawline, but Lafayette's voice cuts through this compulsion.  
  
"I also came to remind you that your father said you are not allowed any more absences from advanced classes."  
  
Laurens' eyes flash with a deadly light before closing off so quickly that Alexander wonders if he even saw anything at all. "Give me five more minutes," Laurens says.  
  
"Monsieur, I will time you," Lafayette replies, and Alexander hears the laughter in his voice as the door shuts.  
  
Laurens takes a deep breath and leans his forehead against Alexander's. If he tilted his head just so, they could be kissing again. Instead, they end up sharing the same air, and Alexander can taste Laurens' words when he says, "I have to go."  
  
He makes no move to leave, so Alexander leans forward, just a touch so that with every inhale, their lips brushed. "So do I but—" and here, he grinds his hips against Laurens' still hard cock.  
  
Laurens grins. "Stay here, cool down," he advises. "Burr is supposed to guide you, right? Say Burr left you and you got lost on the way to class."  
  
And as much as Alexander doesn't want to even think about how his life flashed before his eyes earlier, especially not on the cusp of release, he says, "Burr would kill me!"  
  
"I'll handle Burr," Laurens breathes. Then, he presses in more firmly, stilling Alexander's hips once more but stealing a real kiss or two.  
  
When he moves to pull away, Alexander is reluctant to let go. "What about you?"  
  
Laurens looks down at the tent in his jeans and shrugs. "My sweet Alexander," he tsks, "no one would dare ask me questions. Just worry about how you'll make it back to class." He steps away, reaches a hand into his own pants, and readjusts himself to make his arousal less obvious. Alexander feels cheated, glued to the wall as Laurens makes himself appear flawless— _Minus the large hickey_ , Alexander thinks with satisfaction—even while Alexander isn't even sure if his own legs work.  
  
"Will I see you again?" Alexander asks, and then, suddenly bashful, adds, "you know, after school?"  
  
Laurens looks up at him, and something in his gaze softens. "Wait for me by the back doors after the last bell rings," he says, stealing another kiss. "And Alexander?" A hand trails down the front of Alexander's pants, palming his cock roughly and surprising a moan out of him. "Don't touch yourself." And with that, he's gone out the door.  
  
Alexander takes one look at himself through the mirror, sees his blown pupils, his mussed hair, his swollen lips, and the thousands of red marks marching along his neck to match Laurens' one. His arousal is still extremely evident, and it will probably take him at least ten minutes to calm down enough to even walk normally. Again, Alexander finds himself envying what pool of calmness Laurens draws his facade from, but he can't get out of his mind the way that Laurens had looked at him right before leaving, akin to the gaze Laurens had given him on their last night together in St. Croix. Alexander covers his face with one hand and laughs; if this is only his first day of school, what would the rest of his year be like?

As it turns out, it takes him roughly seven minutes to calm down with his anxiety about being late kicking in, and he makes it to class just late enough to have missed introductions. When the teacher asks where he’s been, he mumbles out that he got lost on the way and scurries into the only available seat in the class—not surprising with his luck—next to Burr.

Alexander has just settled into the lesson—the structure of government, something that’ll help Alexander when he applies for law school in the future—when a tap at his knee almost makes him jump out of his skin. He glances at Burr, only to see—her? He recalls Angelica saying not to call Burr a girl—them looking blandly at the board. Alexander looks discretely at his lap and sees a scarf; a note falls out when he picks it up.

_You look like you’ve been attacked by mosquitos,_ it reads, _cover up._

He blushes at that, having been unable to cover up the marks before leaving the bathroom, but he wraps the cloth gratefully around his neck. Burr nods once, to themselves, and the rest of class passes peacefully.

After that, school is less dramatic. He shares physics with Eliza who waves at him enthusiastically until he sits next to her, a home ed class with some fucker named Jefferson who he wants to kill by the end of the period, and gym with Peggy and some girl named Dolley who seemed to be glued to her side. He doesn’t see Laurens for the rest of the day, not even in the halls, though he does run into one of his friends—Mulligan, he thinks the teacher had called him—who passes him a note that says, _Had to leave early. Burr will meet you at the front doors. He’ll take you to our hangout. -JL_

Alexander isn’t sure how he should feel about being treated like a child. Couldn’t Laurens have just given him an address? Did he really need to be escorted everywhere, especially by someone who clearly wouldn’t care if Alexander got swallowed by a sinkhole if the cruel disinterest Burr shows him is any indication of his feelings. Though maybe that had more to do with the fact that Burr expects to be misgendered, Alexander thinks with some embarrassment. He makes a note to ask Burr about pronouns, because if Laurens’ note and Angelica’s warning are any signs, Burr is not, in fact, a girl.

He is thinking of ways to tactfully ask Burr this question when the final bell rings. He gathers his work, readjusts the scarf around his neck, and heads towards the front doors where students empty out of the school in steady streams. He is glad to be left alone to his thoughts for a little while, though they tended to stray towards thoughts of Laurens and what they had done earlier and what Laurens plans to do later. It is only when he notices that the school is now mostly empty and that he has been waiting for over 15 minutes for Burr to show that he thinks maybe he’s missing something.

Alexander retrieves the note from his pocket, rereads it, and stays put for another five minutes before his anxiety hits. Maybe Burr had ditched him, after all, despite Laurens’ seeming trust in him. Maybe this is all a joke, and Laurens hadn’t actually meant to meet him after school. A ball of dread settles in his throat at that thought. Or, maybe this isn’t the main doors of the school like Alexander thought, and he needed to go find the actual ones. This idea seems less unlikely, but Alexander convinces himself that it is a likely conclusion and appeases his restlessness by walking around the building.

He makes it all the way around to the back of the school before he hears the first grunt. He frowns and stops, thinking that it’s just his imagination, but it happens again before he can convince himself that it was nothing. He follows the sound further out to the edge of the now-deserted parking lot where a sort of auto-mechanics building stands for students to work in. A few really rusted trucks are the only things that really stand out, and the closer Alexander gets to it, the louder the grunts become. With a sense of trepidation, Alexander steps around the opening of the trucks and sees Burr surrounded by three White boys that shouldn’t have been anywhere near their school.

One holds his arms, the other stands in front of him with his fists poised for another strike, and the last stands a little off to the side, a smug smile on their faces. “Had enough,” the one off to the side, probably the leader, says. They’re all wearing leather jackets, and Alexander can distinctly read “Tories” on the dark fabric. Burr spits at his feet, and Alexander is alarmed to find that it is mostly blood. The leader makes a face of disgust and his lackey draws his fist back.

“Hey,” Alexander shouts, stepping out into the open, “leave Burr alone!”

The boys stop and look at him. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, you bastard?” the leader says, and Alexander would have been fine with anything else, would have been satisfied with grabbing Burr and running or maybe finding an administrator and bringing them around. Maybe, if he was feeling bold, he would have called the cops and hoped that they’d take the word of a bunch of colored kids over these White boys. But this boy had the audacity to call Alexander a _bastard_ , and all of the reason and logic he prides himself on is replaced with red.

The next few scenes are just snippets: Alexander’s fist slamming into someone’s jaw, the pop of someone’s knee beneath his shoe, the sharp pain of a hit landed on stomach but the satisfying crunch of a broken nose under his retaliation. He comes to when he has the white boy who called him a bastard beneath him, knuckles slamming heavily into face over and over again. When someone tries to grab his arm, he elbows them back, but the person’s second attempt stays Alexander’s hand completely.

 “Alexander,” they call, “Alexander, it’s over, let go, stop, _stop._ ”

He pauses for long enough that whoever it is, is able to drag him away from the poor kid he’s been beating on. His frightened crew drag him away from Alexander, and they run off, yelling curses over their shoulders. Alexander can already feel the ache of a good fight settling into his bones, and his eyes focus enough to see that it was Burr who had been calling him back to himself.

“You almost killed that King George,” Burr states, and beneath the blood dripping from his nose, Alexander sees a genuine smile on his face. “Let me buy you a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a lot longer than i expected it to be, but Burr wanted to be included by any means necessary

**Author's Note:**

> my characters are still lgbt+, you just gotta wait for it


End file.
